


a fist amidst the hands

by i_shot_the_story



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Other, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_shot_the_story/pseuds/i_shot_the_story
Summary: That's the heart of your beef with Kris Dreemurr, really:Youstopped trying to make nice with other kids after the twenty billionth time you got treated like shit for it.Theynever felt the need to try in the first place.





	a fist amidst the hands

_i am unruly in the stands_

_i am a rock on top of the sand_

_i am a fist amidst the hands_

_and i break it just because i can_

_let's break it just because we can_

 

_mother mother - wrecking ball_

 

* * *

It's hard to say when the first time you noticed them was. You've always got a lot going on, is all, in that stupid way that you've got a lot going on without having anything going on, like, in any way. Ever. So maybe that's not the best way to phrase it. Maybe it's more like you've got a lot of problems to deal with.

Anyway.

You must've seen them around before, but the first time you really _remember_ noticing Kris, they're being walked in by Mrs. Dreemurr, like, holding her hand and everything. What are they, twelve? Come on, grow up already. Everybody else did. It's annoying just to watch it happen.

And it's annoying that there's a teacher bothering to be _nice_ to them, like somehow they're special. It's annoying that they _are_ special, kind of. There aren't many humans in this town. In fact, there's exactly one human in this town, and they're getting special treatment.

And hey, of course they are, because everybody deserves accommodations except Susie, right? Isn't that just classic. Isn't that just the story of your goddamned life.

You don't learn until later that Mrs. Dreemurr is their _Mom._ That does nothing to improve your opinion of them. It grates on your nerves, watching this gross display of "affection." Don't they know they're only gonna be Mommy's Little Darling until they start to be _inconvenient?_ And oh, they'll _be_ inconvenient, that's for sure, because they're _different._

Human. _Shy,_ or maybe just detached. _Weird._ Badly cut hair. The same sweater every day, hands fidgeting in their pockets. That creepy blank expression, like nothing matters to them, like they're just... observing everything from a distance.

In hindsight, you shouldn't be surprised that they keep catching your eye. There are pretty much two people in this school who don't have friends. Loners like you know your own kind. But there's one real big difference between you, and you're not talking about species here.

You've got no friends because nobody likes you, because you're big and angry and awkward and hungry and _poor_ and you don't waste time on hugs and smiles. Kris? They've got no friends because they're too fucking _good_ for friends. And that's the heart of your beef with Kris Dreemurr, really:

 _Y_ _ou_ stopped trying to make nice with other kids after the twenty billionth time you got treated like shit for it. _They_ never felt the need to try in the first place.

 

* * *

 

As time goes by and your shitty life gets shittier and shittier, you keep on finding yourself... _prickled_ by Kris's existence. In your head they slowly become weirdly emblematic of how terrible everything is. A kind of twisted, antisocial incarnation of unappreciated advantages.

They sleepwalk through their life, as far as you can tell, and they probably always have. Where does somebody who has everything get off just _not_ _bothering to use it?_ _You're_ banned from Free Ham Sandwich day because you're big enough that one sandwich isn't even a meal. _T_ _hey_ come to school with lunches their _Mom_ made and then pick at them sullenly like they don't even care. _You're_ here in the only pair of jeans you own. _They_ don't _have_ to wear that same fucking sweater, but they do anyway.

(And they wear the thing _constantly,_ it's bizarre, like even in the summer, even when they're obviously uncomfortably hot. It makes no sense.

Pretty much nothing about Kris makes sense.)

You don't exactly pick on them. But maybe you're a bit more rude than you have to be, take a little time out of your day every once in a while to glare. It's not like they aren't doing the same to everybody else, so they don't get to complain. Live by the sword, die by the sword, and all that.

And maybe that happens a little more than once in a while, because you see them around a lot. Like, of course you do. They _go_ here. But it's more than that. They're real good at being invisible even though they're human, but to you that just makes them stick right out. Like a big green sign that says "I'M BETTER THAN ALL OF YOU," except not, because they basically never say anything.

It's not that they don't make _mouth noises_ to talk - well, actually, no, that's also true, but it's not the point, which is that they don't talk _at all._ Every day they sit in the back of the classroom, staring like a statue right ahead of themself, and when they really _really_ have to they begrudgingly sign the bare minimum before tuning everything out again. And nobody _calls_ them on that shit! You'd kill to be able to coast through school with so little effort.

You'd kill to get to be _left alone,_ but nope. Kris even gets to be an outcast in an easier way than you do.

 

* * *

 

... You tried to be nice to them. Just once. One time. Why? Who knows. Maybe you were bored. They _are_ interesting in a morbid way, that's for sure. Like roadkill, even down to being made out of meat and blood and all that. Something repulsive that draws the eye _more_ for it instead of less.

Anyway. Some dumbass shoulder-checked them in the hall one day, not even on purpose, naturally. Knocked a book out of their hands. It wasn't a textbook, it was some weird thing they brought from home with an all black cover and a spooky title you can't remember anymore. And that was valid as hell. So you thought, hey, screw it. Jerk to jerk, you could do a kid a favor.

"Hey, loser. You dropped something."

You were _generous_ _._ You gave them time to turn around before you even threw the book. It didn't even hit them, they _caught_ it, so it's not like you did something shitty. But were you worth a quick sign or two? A thanks, or even a _nod?_ Nope. You were worth two seconds of eerie, condescending stare from whatever eyes they've got under those long bangs. And then they just walked right past you.

"Well _screw you too!"_ , you yelled at their back. They didn't even flinch.

So fuck Kris. Who needs that, right? Not you. It's not like you cared then or care now. It's not like one civil interaction would've meant a lot to you. Or meant _anything._

But fuck them for snubbing you all the same.

 

* * *

 

So it's today now, and you're waiting and waiting for god knows how long for detention to be over. Watching the clock. Tick, tock, tick fuckin' tock. What's it like to just get to _go home,_ you wonder, and what's it like to _want_ to go home instead of wander around town until curfew on account of being home is even worse than school? One of the many mysteries of the universe.

You finally get cut loose when the afternoon sun is drooping just a little bit. Stupid Fall days. Makes it tougher to find excuses to stay out. But whatever. It's still worth spending another fifteen minutes lurking in the bathroom so you don't have to cross anyone's path on your way through the building.

... The school is weird when it's empty. It always is. Sure, you prefer avoiding people, but you never get used to leaving in the middle of all of this _silence,_ disturbing motes of dust from the weird dance they do through thick diagonal slices of burnt gold window light. Your footsteps sound so heavy with nothing else to mask them, bounce off the walls, make your own presence somehow oppressive. Even your breath feels out of place. You cringe at the weirdly loud rasp of denim on denim. Every little noise you make is a reminder that this space would be more at peace without you.

Then you hear a sound that definitely isn't yours.

A single, loud, echoing _click._

Down the hall and around a corner, you're pretty sure. Are you _not_ the only person left here? You're pretty sure this isn't any of the days Janitor Woshua's passing through, and anyway, _click_ isn't a cleaning noise, it's... you don't know what the hell it is.

Another _click._

Why are you suddenly _nervous?_ This isn't like you. You don't get freaked out by weird noises. You're just stressed, that's all. And if you're stressed, can anybody blame you for kind of leaning around the corner a little bit at a time to peek down the hall without making it obvious that you're coming through?

 _Click._ Ah, _shit._

Of all the people to loiter, of course it had to be Kris goddamned Dreemurr. They're not on their way out, though, and that's weird, isn't it? They're sitting up on a windowsill, half-silhouetted by blazing orange. There's something in their hand, glittering in the slowly dimming light. You squint to get a better look, and oh. Huh.

Yeah, that's a knife alright. A pocketknife, but a big one. Like, a switchblade, you guess is the word. You don't know knives too well, you don't need 'em, you've got claws and teeth. But it makes sense for a human to carry one around. They're not exactly loaded with natural weapons, as far as you know.

Kris twirls the knife around in their hand, lets it roll along their fingers, deftly passes it to the other hand, repeats the whole thing. Tosses it up. It spins and spins, fast enough that it looks _real_ unsafe, and they catch it in their right hand again like it's nothing, snap it shut: _click._

They stare at the closed knife for a few seconds, motionless.

 _Click._ The blade flicks out. And then they're back to... whatever you call this. Knife tricks? Not knife _juggling,_ but it's no less impressive.

You're really not sure what to make of this situation. But you have to like, _go,_ and there's only one path to take, so...

Kris doesn't stop playing with the knife even as you walk down the hall, feeling like a nervous giant, unmissable: stomp after stomp, echoing. But they watch you go. They watch you go as they twirl that sharp little knife all around, not even _looking_ at it. And you walk, feeling like you're in slow motion, trying not to swallow hard like a chump, feeling their gaze out of the corner of your eye. Their head follows you like one of those trick paintings.

You don't have to turn to know they have the same empty look on their face. That's why you keep them in your periphery. It's not even a little bit that you're inexplicably afraid that if you turn your head to the side, you'll see some kind of crazy slasher smile on their face, and they'll leap up and -

Fucking hell, Susie. Calm _down._ What is your _deal_ today?

... When you get outside the school, some weird part of you almost wants to break into a run. And you don't, because why would you, but it's just... your SOUL is pounding in your chest, y'know?

You go straight home for once, because you want a locked door between you and the world, and you don't stop feeling watched until you slide the deadbolt into place, weirdly out of breath.

 

* * *

 

Morning comes, unfortunately. You wake up late as hell. Had a lot of weird, uncomfortable dreams you can only half-remember. For a minute you think Kris spinning the knife around at school was one of them, but nope, you're pretty sure that was more of a weird uncomfortable reality.

You end up even _more_ late to school on account of a weird sinking feeling in your gut, standing in front of the front doors. It's hard to place what it's coming from. A lot of shit, probably. Exhaustion. Lateness. Hunger. Human kids with sharp blades and dull faces. Y'know. Mostly the usual, except for the part that's not.

Whatever. _Whatever._ It's just gonna be whatever it is.

Getting to the classroom, you open the door and oh, hey, big shock, the room goes quiet instantly. Cool. That feels just as good as it always does. So, not very.

"H... hi, Susie," Ms. Alphys says. You could almost blame the stutter on her being herself. But no. You're not an idiot.

"... am I late?" You're not gonna apologize, so... what else do you say? Like, 'Hey, nerds, not sorry I'm late, fuck you all?' It's _appealing,_ but you're kind of on thin ice lately.

"Ohh, n-no! You're fine!" Liar. "W-we were just, uh... ch-choosing partners for the next group project, and..." Oh great. Just awesome. "Ummm, Susie, you're with Kris!"

_Why does the world hate you so much._

"... great." Great, great, just fucking fantastic.

Kris actually looks at you for once. Sort of. They turn their head in your direction, at least. And that doesn't remind you of yesterday _at all,_ no way. Doesn't make you wonder if they still have that knife or anything.

"N-now that everyone's here, I'll write the assignment!" Ms. Alphys scurries along the blackboard. Looks around. Looks around some more. "Uh... h-has anyone seen the chalk? This is the third time it's gone missing, and... y-you all know I can't start class without some!"

The room is dead silent. So, that's a mood. For once. Except for how you know exactly where the damn chalk went. And you're not exactly gonna spill it.

"H-how about this? If no one speaks up... e-everyone gets in trouble!"

Is she really banking on a whole classroom being dumb enough to think she can enforce that? Not a chance. Not even these losers, teach.

"A... anyone? P... please?" You almost, _almost_ feel a little bad for her. Almost.

"Hey, there might be a box in the supply closet... Miss Alphys, why don't Susie and I..." Oh, it's that one girl. The one Kris is lurking by. You catch her staring at you every once in a while. Like, more than most people. What's her deal? Why is she volunteering herself? Is she one of those idiots who gets off on self-sacrifice?

"G-good idea, Noelle! Susie, s-since you came in last... why don't you go get it for me?"

Naturally. Can't send any valuable normal students off with the big, scary girl. That'd just be cruel, right?

"... whatever."

You try not to slam the door behind you, because again. Thin ice. But goddamn do you ever want to just knock it off its hinges.

So what you should do is just screw around in the hallway for a while, take the chalk out of your stupid pocket, and then come back in and act like you Just Found It In The Closet, Wow. Maybe even earn yourself a quarter second of mercy. That's what you should do. What a non-idiot person would do.

But you're an idiot person, and you're pissed off and bitter and - let's face it - starving. So no. To hell with it. You shove the last piece of chalk in your mouth and chomp down.

It's gross. Like, obviously. And there's barely any magic in _chalk,_ so it hardly even makes you less hungry. But hey. It's the idea that counts, right? (It's not. At all. But you can pretend.)

So screw it. You're just going back in there and... wing it. It'll be fine. Somehow. You turn around and -

... Ah, _shit._ There's your least favorite person, just watching from right by the classroom door. And what are the odds they didn't see you? More importantly, what are the odds they don't take the chance to fuck you over?

What a stupid thing to probably finally get expelled over. It's so stupid you wanna laugh, or at least smile. You think maybe you're smiling. It's just so fucking _ridiculous._

"... Kris. Didn't see you there." What a farce. What a... what a goddamned life. You turn around, because if you look at them any more you're gonna laugh or scream or both. "... Hey. You didn't see anything just now, did you?" And they did, you _know_ they did, but...

Like, what else can you say? Like always, what the hell else is there to _say?_

They're completely silent. And y'know, of course they are. But like. Why, even? They're a human. They're not even deaf. They're just... too fucking far _above_ the rest of the world to waste their breath.

"Hmmm... you can't even say?"

Can they, you wonder? It's not like they don't have a tongue. And lungs. Maybe you're missing something. Or maybe you're not. And maybe you don't give a shit either way. Maybe you're getting more pissed off by the second. Maybe this has been a long time coming.

"Kris..." You advance on them. They back away. And for once that feels a little bit good. Because if everyone's gonna act like you're some scary freak, you might as well live up to their expectations.

You clap your hand on Kris's shoulder. For a split second, you have this horrible mental image of their hand darting into their sweater pocket, pulling out the knife, and... but no. That's stupid.

"Hey. Let me tell you a secret."

And they're not - doing anything, so it's fine. You're fine. In the moment, at least. You're still screwed in general.

So what does it matter if you let out some of this frustration and just _slam_ their arrogant human ass up against a locker? What's it even _matter?_

You're not smiling anymore so much as you're grinning. It's just... it's all just so fucking funny.

"Quiet people piss me off." _They_ piss you off, really. But they're the main quiet person you know. So it's all the same.

You want them to be at least a little scared, dangling there pinned and helpless, or act a little hurt, or... _something._ Anything but the same _nothing_. The same complete lack of concern or interest or emotion.

But no. They just stare. No expression. No nothing. Well, almost.

Kris tilts their head up to look at you, and that's new, sort of. And you can see, for the first time, a gleam of bright red under their unkempt bangs. Do... do human eyes _come_ in red? You guess they must.

Y'know what? Fuck this. Fuck Kris fucking Dreemurr. Fuck _everybody!_

"You think just 'cause you don't say anything, I can't tell EXACTLY what you're thinking? 'It's OVER! I caught Susie eating ALL the chalk! This was her LAST chance! Now she'll FINALLY be expelled!'"

Are they... raising their eyebrows, just a little? Maybe you're imagining it. You want to think you're not.

"Haha, come on, Kris. Don't act shocked. You know it's true. Everyone's waiting for it. Everyone wants it. So, congrats, Kris. You got me. I'm done for."

God. Every word you say makes it more real. Now you're thinking about where things go from here. What your _Dad's_ gonna say. What your Dad's gonna... _do._ And you don't have room to get scared, can't afford to. So instead you get _furious._

"... Just, lemme say one little thing. Seems like a waste to get expelled just for having a snack. So, Kris, if I KNOW you're gonna pull the trigger..." And god, you do. You really do. And finally you can't help but laugh. "Heh heh heh... why don't I just get expelled for some REAL carnage?"

You're not sure how serious you are. You want to be serious, except you don't, except you do, except...

"Kris... how do you feel... about _losing your face?"_ You let your fangs unsheathe. Like, all of them, all the way. And you pull them closer and closer...

... And they look at you _for real,_ eyes bright like pools of human blood in sunlight, and they _grin,_ wide and wild and excited, and you -

\- let them drop. Turn. Get some distance. Fast. Swallow, once they can't see your throat. Convince yourself they're not going for the knife back there behind you.

"Kris. You've got a good mother." You have to say something, _anything_ to get control back, because your SOUL is pummeling the inside of your chest again, about as hard as it has in your whole stupid life. "It'd be a shame to make her bury her child." Humans get buried, right? They leave, like... whole bodies behind or whatever. You're pretty sure that's how it happens.

You can make this work. You can salvage this. You almost threw it all away, but you can salvage this. And when you turn around, the grin is gone, and their hands are nowhere near their pockets. They're just... slumped over, like a puppet with the strings cut. So yeah. There's hope.

"Alright. Let's get this over with. We'll get more chalk. Mosey back to class. And then, Kris... YOU'LL do our project. How's that sound?" Fuck, why'd you say that? Shit! You can't push them too far. Who knows where the line is? Who knows what's gonna make them snap?

And they're not going to fucking say anything, anyway, so.

"Don't bother answering." As if they would. "If you haven't gotten it by now... your choices don't matter."

Nobody's choices matter.

... And they _have_ gotten it, haven't they? Maybe they always got it. Maybe that's the key to understanding Kris. Maybe that's what this has been, the whole time. Some kind of nihilism. Or fatalism. Like, why make friends, they probably think, when none of this matters. When we're all gonna be dust someday anyhow, or whatever humans turn into. Don't they have like, fake, non-alive skeletons in there? God, that's weird.

And maybe you're just projecting like crazy.

"Let's go, freak."

The walk to the closet feels like it lasts for a year. You say some rude shit, probably. It's hard to focus on it. Everything is so far away, except for your SOUL beating, except for how your nerves are frayed more by the second, having them behind you where you can't see them.

You open the thing, say some more words. But you're on the fucking moon, basically. A total disconnect between thought and action.

It's dark in the closet. Too dark. But you go in anyway, because you're stupid. Not thinking clearly. Barely thinking at all.

And when the door shuts, leaving you in total darkness, and the floor starts to fall away like something out of a nightmare... somehow, deep down, way down in the very core of your being, you're not all that surprised.

Metaphorically or literally, it was always gonna end this way.

Freefalling into the black.


End file.
